


You're Not Romeo, and I'm Not Juliet

by DrownedTrying



Series: South Park Fics [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownedTrying/pseuds/DrownedTrying
Summary: You're not used to working with others. In this line of work, a distraction can and will kill you. Are you up for the challenge when a fellow mercenary discovers who you are when you're not out on missions?





	1. Chapter 1

“Well, this is an unfortunate turn of events.”

“Shut ze fuck up, you British piece of sheet.”

“Oh, come now, Christophe. Let’s not forget who got us into this mess in the first place.”

You hated your life right now, you really fucking did. Tied against a wooden beam in an unknown basement with two of the most infuriating mercenaries was not exactly your cup of tea. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and you can, and will, tell anyone in a blink of an eye that it wasn’t your fault the three of you are in this mess. You weren’t even _supposed_ to be working with these foreign assholes, yet here you are, tied back to back to back to a pole and your arms crossed behind your back and tied, showing no chance for an escape.

“You are putting the blame on moi? How pathetic,” Christophe growls, tightening his fists. You roll your eyes, but say nothing. 

“I’m not saying it is, but I’m not saying it isn’t,” Gregory replies. He leans his blonde head against the pole. “Perhaps we all contributed to this in some-”

“I hate you both,” you hiss, effectively cutting the Brit off. He goes silent. “If I had been on this mission alone, none of this would’ve happened. You’re both to fucking blame.”

“American whore,” the brunette next to you mutters. You turn to glare at him the best you can.

“At least America still wants me in her country, French bastard,” you shoot back. Christophe meets your glower, his forest eyes dark.

“Can’t we settle this like adults?” the Brit sighs. 

“No.”

“Non.”

“Really, this is probably the reason why we were caught before we could finish getting the information we need.” You huff and lean your head back against the beam, glaring at the ceiling. The Italian gang leader had his men take all of your weapons and electronics, save for-

“Gregory. Christophe,” you say, suddenly straightening your back. Gregory looks over, but the brunette doesn’t move to look at you.

“Casse toi, putain,” he rumbles. You ignore him.

“One of you, see if you can get to my watch.” That catches Christophe’s attention.

“What? Why?” Gregory asks, but maneuvers his hands to try to reach your wrists with some difficulty. You glance around the dark basement, knowing there must be some sort of camera watching the three of you.

“Trust me,” you breathe. You feel the frenchman search blindly for your watch as well, frowning when you feel his rough hands brush against your fingers. You hate that little jolt of electricity that shoots up your spine, the warm feeling that fills you, the way your body trembles at a mere touch-

“I found it. What do you want moi to do?” Christophe asks, completely oblivious to your body’s reaction to his touch alone.

“There should be two little buttons; the bigger one sends an emergency signal to my team, and the smaller one has a laser. It should cut us out,” you mumble. “Press the smaller one.” The brunette nods and does so, and within seconds, the ropes around your wrists begin to feel extremely warm. You wait patiently, smirking faintly once your wrists are freed and the rope around your torso begins to loosen.

“Okay, now what?” Gregory mutters, catching your drift on the possibility of being watched, or even listened to.

“Give me five minutes.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding moi! Zis is your plan?! How the _fuck_ will zis get us out of here, you fucking god loving bitch?!” You ignore the angry mercenary before jumping to your feet and rushing to the door. Shouts could be heard while you were dragging a rather heavy box in front of the door, preventing the Italian gang members from entering. Once the members were preoccupied with the door, you glanced around for your weapons.

“These bastards aren’t very smart, keeping our weapons in the same room as us,” you mutter, causing Gregory to snort. Christophe says nothing, watching you silently with an unreadable expression on his face. The men watch as you pick up their guns, grenades, Gregory’s sword, Christophe’s shovel, and your hunting knife. You quickly make your way to them, cutting them free.

“Zat wasn’t even five minutes,” you hear the Mole mumble. As always, you ignore him and turn your attention to the now smiling Gregory, cutting his wrists loose from their bindings.

“Impressive!” he praises. “Now, just how do we-”

“There’s a vent that should lead us outside,” you say, thinking back to the blueprints of the building that you had acquired. The blonde nods and turns to his partner in crime, whom in turn, grabbed a screwdriver the gang members had forgotten and begins to work on the vent cover. It almost seems as if… “Christophe! Stop!” You yank him back before he could pull the cover off, causing the male to fall on his ass. He turns to glare up at you.

“What ze fuck?! We have a fucking job to do, you stupid fucking putain!” he rants, his dirtied face turning red in anger. You return his glare, (E/C) meeting green without wavering.

“Haven’t you fucking realized that this seems a little _too_ easy?” you snap.

 _”’Too easy?!’_ Zey fucking beat us withzen an inch of our pathetic lives, and you say it’s _too easy?!_ What kind of femme stupide are you?!” Gregory walks forward as the two of you bicker, inspecting the vent.

“If you both could stop quarreling for just a moment, you both would see that (Y/N)’s right. There seems to be a bomb inside the vent, rigged to blow once we take the cover off. From the looks of it, it would kill us all, even if we are nowhere near the vent,” Gregory observes. You smirk at Christophe, who scowls. “There must be another way out somehow…” The brunette suddenly perks up.

“I’ve got it,” he announces. You turn to him in question.

“Wait, got what?” Christophe smirks at you.

“Shut the hell up and listen to moi, zen maybe I’ll tell you.” He waits until you’re silent (although you narrow your eyes at him) before turning on his heel. You share a look with Gregory as Christophe looks around the basement, ignoring the shouts from the gang and the pounding on the only exit. He picks something up. “Here is ze camera,” he smashes it against the cement wall, “and zere it goes.” The frenchman turns to you and the blonde, lowering his voice to a dangerous level, one that makes you fight a blush. “I have zome fishing line zey did not take. Gregory will tie one end to ze vent cover and ze other to ze blasted wooden pole. Once you are done, Gregory, ze trois of us will hide behind zose crates.”

“Ah, I see what you’re getting at,” Gregory smiles, his hand cupping his chin in a thoughtful manner as his blue eyes sparkle in amusement. “We hide, and when they open the door and enter, we run out while making sure not to get caught. They’ll trip the wire, and _boom._ No more gang members.”

“Just a minute,” you interrupt. “If that bomb goes off, and heaven knows how strong it is, it could kill us anyways. We’d have to scale the stairs and be out of the building before it goes off, which takes a lot more than a few seconds.” Gregory’s smile broadens.

“Don’t worry about that. The Mole here has an escape route. He dug it while you and I eavesdropped on Adelmo Moretti and Fyodor Vasilek.” You nod, ignoring the rock in your stomach when the Mole frowns disapprovingly at you. Saying no more, you crouch behind a crate, watching as Gregory takes the fishing line from his partner and does as he demanded. It only takes him a minute or two to complete the task, but it feels like an eternity. As a last minute thought, you scramble to your feet and swing the handle of your gun, destroying the only light bulb in the room. The room immediately goes dark, and you hear Christophe and Gregory curse softly at you. Both rush to get in position before the dark haired man kicks the heavy box out of the way. Almost immediately, the door burst open, and ten or so Italian gang members file in. 

“Fuck, it’s dark,” one of the Italians mumbled. You glance over to where Christophe and Gregory are crouching, barely able to see the British mercenary shake his head.

_Not yet._

“Do you see them?” another asks.

“Not yet. C’mon, let’s get these fuckers.” One by one, the gang members walk forward, each watching their step as to not trip. Gregory slowly stands once the last man walks in the room, hidden by the shadows. He nods to you, motioning you forward. You sprint out of the room and up the stairs soundlessly.

“Mozzerfucker,” Christophe grunts as he runs after you. “Go to ze right, you stupid whore.” Nodding, you turn to go to the right, but something catches your eye. You skid to a stop.

“(Y/N), we have to go!” Gregory urges. You ignore him and run inside a room, grabbing a stack of files before sprinting back out the door. The blonde scowls at you, which honestly doesn’t look very attractive on him, and leads you to the hole Christophe had dug. The two of you scramble through just as an explosion blows up a good part of the Italian gang hideout. 

“Shit!” you curse, crawling faster than before, hoping to whatever god there is that you don’t burn to a crisp, your hold on the folders tightening. Two pairs of hands grab you under your armpits when you reach the edge of the small tunnel, pulling you up and towards a black armored vehicle. You recognized it as that French idiot’s truck. 

“Come on and get in zer!” said French bastard yells. You and Gregory hustle into the protected vehicle. The door isn’t even closed before the brunette speeds off.

“What the fuck were you doing?!” Gregory all but shouts. You give a breathy laugh. It was well known throughout your organization that near-death experiences spurred you on and kept you in the game, but these foreign bitches wouldn’t know that. They probably never will, either.

“Grabbing these.” You hand the mercenary the files, smirking softly. You knew exactly what they were, and with one glance at them, so did Gregory.

“Oh my god.”

“What? What is it? What makes you say your faggot god’s name?” Christophe hisses. You and Gregory share a knowing look.

“It’s the Italian and Russian’s plans.”

* * *

Smiling at Clyde, you follow him into the fancy restaurant. Your lifelong friend, and date, had no idea what you did during the night, and you intended to keep it that way, letting him think you did nothing but manage South Park’s only library. The large sum of money from the mission was split evenly between you and the foreigners, and you were glad that you’d never have to see their faces again.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Clyde whispers, leading you towards a table. You blush, smiling wider at him.

“Thank you,” you whisper in return. He grins, turning to the occupants of the table.

“Token! It’s so great to see you!” Clyde exclaims, hugging the man as he stands.

“Good to see you too, brother! It’s been what, two years?” Token replies, his grin bright. You smile and hug Nichole.

“Hey, girl! How’s the library treating you?” she greets. Giggling softly, you pull away, raising a playful eyebrow as the two men chatter loudly. Nichole laughs softly. “Sorry about Token.”

“Pardon Clyde,” you grin sheepishly. You turn your attention back to the chocolate skinned beauty before you. “The library’s doing great, actually. Better than ever. What about you and your studies?” The four of you sit, each still catching up with the other.

“Oh, I’m almost done with school. All I have is the finals, and I’ll get my ANRP!” Nichole excitedly reveals. You cheer softly.

“ANRP?” Clyde repeats, suddenly taking an interest in your conversation. Token beams proudly, gazing over at his fiancée.

“Nurse practitioner. She meets with patients and prescribes medicine to them,” he explains to his best friend. You all look up when a waiter wearing a white button shirt and a black vest walks up, smiling politely at your group.

“Excuse me, but may I interest you in an appetizer?”

* * *

“That was _amazing,”_ Nichole purrs, smiling at the empty plate before her. You nod in agreement. Nichole had ordered the moules marinières, Token the garbure, Clyde the pistou soup, and you had the choucroute garnie, then the four of you each ordered a crème brûlée. Needless to say, it’s the best dinner you’ve had in quite a while, and the drive to Denver was totally worth it. 

“How is everything?” the waiter from before asks, his lips upturned in a wide smile. 

“Absolutely amazing,” Clyde sighs happily. 

“May we have a word with the chef? I would like to extend my gratitude to him myself,” Token says, neatly putting his soiled napkin on his empty plate. 

“Bien sur monsieur,” the waiter bows, turning to fetch the chef. You turn to grin at Clyde.

The double date was a success.

“Thank you both for agreeing to join us,” you say, turning your smile to Token and Nichole. The couple returns your smile.

“Of course, (Y/N). I had an amazing time, so thank you for inviting us.”

“Excusez-moi, but did you ask to see moi?” Your eyes widen as your heart stops.

_No. It can’t be._

You turn, (E/C) eyes meet a forest green, both widening. Christophe, clad in a white chef’s uniform, stares at you, and you stare right back.

“Ah, yes. I wanted to thank you personally for the meal. As much as I enjoyed it, I am sure my friend and his date enjoyed it more than I,” Token praises. The frenchman's eyes flicker to Clyde before flitting back to you, shock clear as day on his face.

“Yes, we definitely did. We’ll be coming back more often, so I hope to taste more of your dishes!” Clyde pipes, a large grin on his face. You swallow thickly.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

(E/C) eyes stare up at the glimmering of the stars in the night sky, the moon in the shape of a fingernail as you walk to the library. Your double date with Clyde, Token, and Nichole was a success, if you push aside the fact you had met a mercenary that you had worked with only a night before. 

There was an unspoken rule in your agency. _Don’t get caught outside of the job. Otherwise, you’re dead._ You’ve known many a mercenary who was caught, kidnapped, and killed by someone they had worked with, which is pretty much the main reason why you prefer to work alone. That and you don’t have to deal with idiots like Christophe and Gregory. Just the mere _memory_ of seeing Christophe in the restaurant makes your blood run cold. Who knows who he would tell? Who knows what would happen to you?

You think back to Clyde. He had been so persistent on driving you home, even willing to walk with you to your library when you had declined once arriving in South Park. Instead, you kissed him on the cheek with a smile and a blush, promised to go on another date with him, bid him a goodnight, then turned and walked away. It’s not that you wanted to get away from him or anything, you just need to report your findings on Christophe so HQ is aware. You’d rather them know who you had seen and _then_ disappear rather than HQ not knowing a damn thing and disappear. At least they’d have an inkling of who might have kidnapped you. However, there’s a problem.

You’re being followed.

You had noticed the mystery person immediately since leaving the restaurant. To others, it would be odd that someone who seemingly sat in a vehicle for hours suddenly starts driving behind them, following them all the way to their hometown, then getting out of said vehicle to follow them to wherever the victim leads on foot. But to you, this was a major problem. You were sure it was neither of the mercenaries you had worked with a night ago, and it didn’t look like anyone you were previously associated with. Whoever it was made sure to keep out of sight, and though prepared with a hunting knife laced with poison, you scowl, feeling _so_ naked without your trusted .22 revolver. 

You might as well be walking into a firefight with a pocket knife.

“There you are,” a heavily accented voice whispers, clamping his huge hand over your mouth and nose. You struggle to reach for your knife, which was safely strapped to your thigh (although it’s _so_ cliché, you don’t exactly have anywhere else to put the knife), but another hand grabs both wrists, yanking them behind your back. Another person comes into your range of vision, though they’re bathed by shadows. All you can see is a twisted grin as he pulls out a white rag, and you know _exactly_ what it is.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t struggle so much,” the newcomer growls, firmly holding the rag over your mouth and nose as the first attacker removes his hand. You jerk your head side to side, trying to shake his hold, but to no avail. The world around you begins to spin, your vision going fuzzy and any lightsource shining seeming brighter than normal. “The boss is waiting, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

* * *

“DeLorne, ‘of Yardale, front and center.” 

Christophe and Gregory look up from their folders, the Frenchman’s eyes laced with irritation and the Englishman’s with confusion. It had been a week since their last mission, and though they had gotten info on the Italian and Russian gang plans, there was still more work to do. The duo were somewhat happy that their boss, some older guy who goes by Axel, had asked some other company to borrow their most skilled mercenary. Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t a strong, male American like they had believed. No, it was a girl no older than twenty, though she looked so much younger. Christophe wasn’t going to hide his disdain for the girl, especially after they had all gotten caught, but she proved to be useful in the end. 

However, that doesn’t mean he wanted to see her again.

Life was out to get him, it seems, as he found the girl at his ‘normal’ job, apparently on a date with some chocolate haired buffoon. The boy looked like an idiot, but the young mercenary (whom had looked _quite_ pale at the sight of the Frenchman in his chef’s uniform) had looked happy to be on a date with him, despite if it was a double date. This, he knows, because the waiter had given him a fair warning. That’s the only way to bring people back, he figures. To hell with all the other god worshipping sons of bitches. They could eat somewhere else, but he knows they won’t, only because he knows his food’s just that good, even better if they’re on a date. This is why _L’Assiette_ is the best restaurant to dine at if you’re on a date.

Fucking pussy-licking, cock-sucking Americans. They make him sick, only enjoying food if it were a special occasion. Otherwise, they shovel food in their mouths without spending a single _second_ to savor the flavors dancing on their tongues.

“Whatever’s the matter, Axel?” Gregory asks, snapping the brunette out of his thoughts. The elder glanced up from an open file in his hands, a deep frown on his face. That could only mean trouble.

“Come speak to me in my office,” Axel says, closing the folder and taking a look around before heading to his office. The duo share a concerned glance with one another before following their boss. It wasn’t until the door was latched when the man started to speak. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N) has been missing for six days.”

He was met with silence.

The two mercenaries stare at him in shock, sapphire blue and forest green eyes wide. They’d be idiots to believe their own company wasn’t under investigation from the other mercenary’s, and they can understand why they’d be suspects, but they weren’t expecting _this_ to happen.

“You are serious?” Christophe finally asks in disbelief. Axel nods grimly, opening the folder once more. 

“She was taken sometime between one A.M. and six A.M. The both of you have been under careful surveillance, but her company finally cleared you sometime today. They also have requested that you both aide them in searching for her.” The older man looks at the papers resting in the file. “She works as a librarian for a small mountain town called South Park. She lives alone, but is well liked by the community. No one is even aware of her being a mercenary, but her friend, Clyde Donovan, was the last person to see her. Apparently, they were on a date before she was taken. He reported her missing when he noticed the library wasn’t open,” Axel says. His gray eyes watch Christophe tense. “DeLorne, is there something you’re not telling me?” Christophe shakes his head quickly.

“Non. I have shared with you that I have seen ze femme stupide at my ozer job, but zat is all,” he says. Axel nods, remembering the conversation the two of them had.

“You are correct. Now, the two of you will be looking for her. Her company has one other suspect, and it’s the Chinese gang.” Both mercenaries swear.

“Well, that puts a damper in my mood,” Gregory growls, his face twisting into a dark expression. They had dealt with the Chinese gang before, and it ended with Christophe getting shot in the shoulder just above his heart, Gregory breaking a leg, and the whole company attending a couple of funerals. They weren’t to be messed with, and if they were to team up with the Italian and Russian gangs, well, it’d be Hell on earth. Shootouts would appear on the streets more often, more men, women, and children would be killed, and the crime rates would rise for sure. Not only that, but it would mean more missions, more people to eliminate, and less time to have to themselves. 

Long story short, the Chinese gang is a force to be reckoned with.

“I want you both to do some scouting. Find out what happened and bring her home safely. She has someone who wants her home, after all.”

* * *

Christophe walks around the empty house, gazing at the collection of trinkets on bookshelves and various genres of books. The house was dark, save for the Mole’s flashlight lighting the way, but it was darker than he’d like it to be. It was a new moon, and all of South Park was drowning in darkness. 

Picking up a picture, he sighs. 

You could’ve had a life, a normal one, if it weren’t for this job. So could he, but that was if he was born in a different household. With his father long gone, he had to find _some_ way to help support his single mother, the same mother that attempted to abort him by stabbing a clothes hanger through his heart, and the same mother that drank herself to sleep every night, hoping that by some miracle, tomorrow would be a better day. 

It never was.

He stares at the picture. It was recent, just from Thanksgiving. It was you and that brown haired American bastard from the restaurant, smiling in front of a tree with leaves of oranges, reds, and browns. The Frenchman notes how your eyes sparkle as if they haven’t seen someone die, the way your hands are wrapped around the other guy’s as if they hadn’t been coated with a stranger’s blood, and the way you seemed relaxed, as if you weren’t a mercenary who has been through Hell and back.

You looked so happy, living a life Christophe could only _dream_ of having. Some days, he just wants to take off, go someplace new, change his name and appearance, maybe even meet someone and settle down, be the type of father that he never had but always wanted. Get a cat, because screw dogs. Buy a house, take a vacation, probably a cruise. He’s always wanted to go on a cruise, but then again, there are a lot of places he wants to go to, which includes an amusement park. He’s always wanted to go to one, but due to his job, he never had the time. Money wasn’t an issue, but with Axel breathing down his neck, and _had_ been breathing down his neck since he was six or seven, Christophe never got the chance to live like a normal child. He doesn’t regret all of it, but he just wishes things were a tad bit different.

And for some strange reason, Christophe sees you living that dream life with him.

He puts the picture down and walks away. He has more important things to do, like search your house to see if you had left any clues. The living room was clean, the kitchen empty, and nothing was in your den, not even paperwork for your missions. You were clever, and he was beginning to appreciate that. Even that stupid bastard Gregory could learn a thing or two from you, which says a lot because Gregory's an idiot. Rolling his eyes, he climbs the stairs, searching through each room. Your room is surprisingly clean (although he found a .22 revolver under your pillow, along with poison masked as perfume and other assorted weapons hidden as woman products), the laundry room held nothing, and the bathroom was clean. That is, until he heard a strange beeping. 

With a raised eyebrow, the young mercenary searches the room until he came to the source of the annoying beeping: a tampon box. Christophe wrinkles his nose in disgust, but gets over it when he sees one of the skinny packages flashing a red light. He quickly takes it, accidentally grabbing another, and opens both without thought. The mercenary freezes, holding up a tampon by the string.

“What ze fuck is this?” he mutters, looking confused as all hell. “Is zis some sort of missile? A weapon of some sorts? How does it even work? God fucking damnit, I do not understand women. Zey can all suck my fat French dick for all I care.” If only he knew what he had touched… 

Christophe turns back to the other object, which looks to be a tracking device. His eyes widen, and without a second thought, he dials a certain number.

“Axel? It’s moi, Christophe. I zink I may have found ze missing American girl.”


	3. A/N

Hey guys! Very long time, no see! I apologize about that. However, I come bearing news. I opened up a Discord server specifically for my fics, so feel free to join! We're cool, I swear. 

https://discord.gg/7HePKmV

See you there!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the chapter, leave a kudo, comment, bookmark, and subscribe to receive updates for then a new chapter is up!


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